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byuneebuns · 5 years ago

Text

Calluna

Minhyuk x Reader Supernatural AU

Tags: Fluff, Oneshot, Witch AU, Supernatural AU

Author’s Note: I wrote this in July of 2018, right before I saw Monsta X in SF, and it has been sitting in my drafts since then. I just re-worked it a little and I think it’s finally ready to let it see the light of day. I hope someone out there enjoys it. ♡

A large plume of dense magenta smoke was billowing from your cauldron, smelling strongly of pine needles. You fanned at it eagerly, trying to ignore the dread creeping into the pit of your stomach as you recoiled from the pungent odor.

‘Pine needles? Isn’t it supposed to smell like flowers....?’ You thought to yourself as you glanced at the open spellbook by your side for confirmation.

The jewel-tone clouds finally started to dissipate and you chewed on your lower lip as you peered nervously into the depths of your cauldron, silently praying your hard work hadn’t been been for naught.

In the bottom of the large metal bowl was a substance reminiscent of tar in both consistency and color, bubbling ominously.

“No, no. This isn’t right at all.” You muttered darkly to yourself, your fingernails digging grooves into your palms from how tightly your fists were clenched with frustration.

This was your third attempt at a particularly complex potion to mimic feelings of love and you were at your wit’s end trying to figure out what exactly you were doing wrong.

This wasn’t a love potion in the sense that it made someone else fall in love with you: It was a potion that made you feel all of the warmth, the fullness, the contentedness of loving and being loved in return. It was happiness in a bottle, so to speak, and much like the feeling was difficult to describe so was it to replicate.

You squinted at the narrow, cramped cursive text that covered the pages of your spellbook, wishing for the thousandth time that your late Aunt hadn’t been so hasty when recording her creations. Her handwriting was illegible at best, and most of her homegrown spell instructions were riddled with scribbles and footnotes that contradicted each other.

“It must be nice to be a genius.” You sighed to yourself, closing the textbook and staring wistfully at the ceiling. A small wreath, only about three inches in diameter, of smooth wood and white heather swayed from a long string attached to the low ceiling beams of your small cabin, almost playfully teasing you. It was her last parting gift to you before she left you alone in the world. It had been a year since she passed away but the heather had never yet wilted, something you were certain she’d accomplished with her powerful magic. You’d never gotten to ask the meaning behind the wreath but you could sense that it was important in some way you’d yet to comprehend.

Your parents had died from illness when you were too young to know them, leaving you alone with your mother’s much, much older sister. She’d raised you as her own and although you knew she was no spring chicken you were still extremely unprepared when she told you that the end was coming. She went peacefully in her sleep but it never felt like she’d truly left you, so you managed to avoid feeling too lonely.

“Auntie, couldn’t you have bought a typewriter? I can’t read this, and what I can read doesn’t make sense. Now I have to go out again.” You whined at the charm, receiving only taunting silence in reply.

You groaned again, pulling on your boots and cloak and trudging out of the cabin with a final sigh.

Your feet carried you towards the tree line of the forest you called home. Your cabin sat in a wide field that was dotted with wildflowers and surrounded by trees that seemed tall enough to touch the clouds in the bright blue sky above them. Your Auntie had always told you that a witch belonged in nature, but that it should be revered and respected. Nothing more than was needed should be taken, partly because wastefulness is considered evil, but mostly for fear of angering the protective spirits of the wood. They never showed themselves to others but you could feel their presence all around you, watching your every move from somewhere just out of sight, as soon as you stepped in their territory.

Your caretaker had been much more well-acquainted with the wood than you were. You had spent plenty of time playing there as a child, but she often ventured into them alone when you were young, leaving for hours at a time without explanation. You suspected that she was practicing advanced magic in private that she didn’t want you trying to copy. You never dared to follow her, knowing that she would catch you immediately and not wanting to suffer the consequences of your curiosity, but you’d always hoped that someday she would deem you worthy to accompany her. She’d kept so many secrets from you until her last breath, which you routinely tried not to let eat a hole in your heart. She had her reasons and they were her’s alone.

Your feet slowly made their way along the soft, mossy earth, your arms swinging freely at your sides, a small smile playing on your full lips. You felt so blessed to get to live somewhere so breathtakingly beautiful. The trees were so thick that only small, green-tinged rays of the sun were freckling the forest floor. You were so relaxed in the silent woods that you failed to notice the pair of eyes following you closely as you journeyed on.

You finally reached your destination, a tiny clearing in the woods with herbs and berries of differing varieties as far as the eye could see. You’d been fortunate enough to locate the little sanctuary not long after your Aunt passed and it had since become a beloved destination for you to find peace in solitude, ingredients for meals, and supplies for spells. It was, needless to say, an important place for you both in terms of your survival but also your spirit.

You knelt down, carefully picking stalks of herbs and collecting berries in your basket. You left a small cloth bundle, tied tight with a ribbon, on the ground nearby. This was almost certainly a garden being cultivated with the magic of forest spirits, so it was only polite to leave an offering as payment.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” A disparaging voice suddenly called over your shoulder.

You spun around and stumbled backwards in shock, tripping over an exposed root and crawling backwards on your hands, ignoring the stinging pain in your ankle.

A tall, thin man towered over you, watching you with thinly veiled amusement. He took a step towards you and you gasped, scrambling backwards into a bush as you desperately tried to put more distance between the two of you.

The stranger bent down on one knee and plucked your offering from the ground, untying the ribbon with nimble fingers, and pulled a sour face at the contents.

“It always has cucumber, why can’t they just be normal?” He grumbled, pinching the tiny sandwich between his forefinger and his thumb, a pout blooming spectacularly on his mouth and marring his elegant features.

Now that his attention was directed elsewhere you were able to get a proper look at him. He looked to be about your age, maybe a few years older, had a thin frame with broad shoulders and otherwise even proportions and was deceptively muscular. He had delicate cat-like features with high cheekbones, his face promising mischief. Straight brows hovered over almond-shaped eyes with glittering black irises, and a small, straight nose with thin lips and a sharp jaw. His hair was the color of fresh snow, messy and sticking up oddly in places, and upon closer inspection seemed to have some small leaves and twigs tangled in it.

In fact, the closer you looked at him the more wild he appeared. There were smears of dirt on his arms and face and his shirt was torn in strange places, like he’d fist fought with a thorn bush and lost badly. His pants were worn and had large grass stains at the knees. He looked like he hadn’t seen a proper bed or bath in ages.

Despite his forlorn appearance, he was truly stunning.

He turned to you with a scowl.

“Don’t you know how to make anything else?”

Your initial shock having subsided, you felt yourself practically swelling with indignation.

“I can, thank you very much. And those aren’t for you anyways, they’re an offering for the forest spirits.” You huffed, crawling forward gingerly on scuffed hands and knees to snatch the container from his ungrateful hands.

He looked at you incredulously before tipping his head back and laughing, earning another look of apprehension from you.

“Well the forest rejects your offering. Come back with something tastier.” He said, taking your basket from your unsuspecting grip.

“H-hey!”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief as you watched the man replacing everything you’d carefully collected in its original place.

A lunatic.

There was no other explanation. He was a lunatic.

“Excuse me, but what gives you the right to decide my offering isn’t good enough?” You spat, trying and failing to get past him to retrieve your belongings.

“No one needs to give me the right to decide what I will and won’t accept.” He replied haughtily, tossing your now-empty basket in your lap.

You glowered at each other for a few terse moments before you burst into hollow laughter.

“What is so funny?” The man’s arms were folded across his chest now, his pout returning in full force.

You stopped laughing when you saw how serious your companion was.

“Are you really trying to tell me that you’re some kind of forest spirit?” You said, your voice deadpan to emphasize your disbelief.

“I prefer nymph since I have a physical form, and my name is Minhyuk.” He said matter-of-factly, watching you with tense, wary eyes.

You blinked once, twice, three times before speaking.

“You’re really...a nymph?” You asked, feeling every bit as stupid as you doubtlessly sounded.

Minhyuk rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m an elk.”

Your cheeks colored with humorless embarrassment. You’d always imagined forest nymphs to be more...fairly-like? Small and playful, happy creatures, perhaps with little translucent wings. Not like this...sassy man that was eating the berries you’d planned on taking with you, his expression surly.

“So...you really won’t let me take anything unless I bring you something else?” You asked, your disbelief evident in your tone.

“Oh, you’re still here? I hadn’t noticed. A blueberry pie sounds nice. The old lady used to bring them every so often, so I’m sure that you have a recipe somewhere.” He said in between mouthfuls, ignoring your visible annoyance.

“Until then I guess you’ll have to find somewhere else to forage seeing as this is my house you’re in.”

“Wait, what about an old lady?” You asked, brow furrowing with confusion.

“Don’t you have a pie to bake?” Minhyuk stood, clearly signaling that your conversation was over.

“I’m not making you a pie, you brat!”

“Then I guess you won’t be making much else, either.”

The sight of his parting smirk would haunt you for days to come.

***

“Stupid nymph.” You hissed before you stuck your thumb in your mouth to nurse the bead of your cherry-red blood that was forming on the fingertip. You glared at the bush you’d been foraging through, unsure if your irritation was from your finger being pricked or from your lack of success.

You’d been desperately trying to find high quality ingredients elsewhere for nearly a week but suddenly it was as if they were scarce, or worse, ceased to exist. The tiny garden, however, remained a treasure trove of wildlife, mocking you and your inability to access it without being accosted by an overly large child. You had no trouble finding an abundance of blueberries wherever you looked, though.

You had every reason to suspect that this was Minhyuk’s doing. Of course you couldn’t really confirm it was anything more than bad luck but you could have sworn that you heard him snickering each time you found nothing and grew more frustrated.

“I’m losing my mind.” You sighed, tugging your hair at the root.

“You’ll go bald if that’s how you cope with stress.” A smug voice from over your shoulder commented.

“You-” You spun around, tripping over your feet in your haste. You tottered forward, swinging your arms to try and break your fall. Minhyuk’s surprised face was the last thing you saw before you fell into something solid, something that was very obviously not dirt.

Minhyuk’s firm hands gripped your shoulders and pushed you back into a standing position an arm’s length away, his dirty cheeks flushed a dusty rose.

“Ugh, its you. Why am I always falling when you’re around?” You grumbled, your former ire returning after the shock of his sudden appearance faded.

“I can’t help it if you’re falling for me.” He replied with a self-assured smirk and a shrug.

“Would literally rather dive naked into a pit of poison ivy.”

“That can be arranged. Why are you wasting time here anyway? Shouldn’t you be baking?”

“I already told you, I’m not making anything for a brat like you.” You snapped, crossing your arms with finality.

“Guess you’ll have to give up whatever experiment you’re working on then. You won’t harvest anything here without my blessing.”

So he was behind this after all. True to his word, you hadn’t been able to forage anything at all since your last meeting.

You fumed, turning over your options in your head. As much as you couldn’t stand Minhyuk it surely would be less effort to bake for him than it would be to try and find a new place to gather, wouldn’t it? Every fiber of your being was revolting against you as you considered this, screaming that it was the principle of the matter and you shouldn’t submit to such an arbitrary demand, but logic slowly won out.

“Fine. But you’re helping me.”

***

“I do hope that you’re better at magic than you are at baking.”

“I would be done already if you just let me use my magic to begin with!” You practically shouted. Your appearance mirrored your companion’s, your faces and clothing speckled with flour. Your hands were stained blue and your failed attempt at crafting a blueberry pie by hand sat ominously on the windowsill where it was cooling.

“It tastes funny if you don’t make it by hand. Nymphs can’t tell lies, you know, so trust me on this. It isn’t the same.” Minhyuk grumbled, his nose wrinkling with the depth of his pout.

“How many people are honestly bringing you pies for you to claim to know the difference?” You whined, but you were met with silence instead of the snarky reply you’d come to expect. You couldn’t help recalling having a similar argument with your Aunt in your youth. She, too, had always insisted that food tasted better when made with powers of the heart rather than with magic.

You turned your back on the oven and found Minhyuk eyeing your ceiling with a somber expression on his face.

“Um...are you okay?”

His snapped towards at an alarming rate, his features carefully rearranging into their default expression of haughtiness.

“I’m fine. Just wondering if you’re polite enough to make sure that thing isn’t poisonous before you try to feed it to me.”

You stuck your tongue out in response but your eyes wandered to where his had been fixed moments before, and you felt a curious sensation in the pit of your stomach when they found the white heather wreath swaying peacefully exactly where Minhyuk had been staring so intently.

“You were looking at that.” Your finger pointed at the wreath, your voice questioning even though you’d made a statement.

Minhyuk watched at you, momentarily stricken silent, his eyes searching yours for something unknown.

“So what if I was?” He challenged, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you know something about it? Its a token my Aunt left me.” You asked tentatively, watching Minhyuk’s face closely.

“So what if I do?” He countered with a stony voice, his shoulders squared.

“Can you please tell me more about it?” You could feel your hands starting to shake with emotion.

“Do you know what white heather symbolizes?” He asked slowly, after some consideration.

You shook your head in reply.

“Protection and the granting of wishes. One of her final living acts was to make that for you. It takes an incredible amount of power to craft an undying flower for someone not innately attuned to nature. She was very talented. She loved you very much.” He explained, his voice soft, his eyes seeking out the wreath again rather than you.

“How do you know that?” You breathed, your voice quietly shaking from the tears you were trying to swallow.

“I helped her make it. Did you never wonder what she spent so much time doing alone in the woods? I met your Aunt when I was still small. I still remember the day that she brought you home. She was so enamored with you. She tried many times to get me to leave the forest and meet you, but I refused.”

You watched a small, sad smile curl Minhyuk’s lips upwards ever so slightly, bringing a pang to your heart as you quietly waited for him to continue.

“She still made time to visit me even though she was busy with you. It was hard at first and I was jealous, it gets lonely in the forest, but I managed. She would come and talk to me for hours, show me spells of her own design, bring me all kinds of food, ask me how the plants were doing, and I would show her some magic of my own. Nymphs are not very different from witches, you know. We both use magic, just of a different variety. We commune directly with the spirit of nature and create, where as you create based on things that we’ve already made. Yeah, your aunt didn’t much care for that observation either.” Minhyuk laughed loudly at your disgruntled expression, but his eyes were soft and kind as he reminisced on his past, making him even more beautiful to behold. His laughter slowly died out, giving way for the sadness to creep back into his eyes as he looked to the ceiling again.

“When she knew that she was dying...she came to me and asked how to create life. I refused at first, afraid that it was too ambitious for her frail form, afraid it would harm her, afraid of what she wanted to accomplish...but she was relentless. She came every single day and begged. When I finally asked her why, her answer was simple: for you. She wanted to show you that she was always with you. So I showed her, and of course she was eventually successful. She asked me to watch over you but...I still couldn’t bring myself to meet you. So instead I made that garden and I’ve been maintaining it ever since.”

Minhyuk ended his story with a deep sigh, sounding as if a great weight had been lifted from him, and finally returned his gaze to you. Your breath caught when he took a step forward and extended a hand towards you, using the tips of his fingers to brush away the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks unbeknownst to you.

“Why did you wait until now to reveal yourself to me? You’ve really been watching me all this time?” You whispered, your voice cracking.

“I had no choice when you started only leaving offerings with cucumber in them. I can’t eat cucumbers, they’re too disgusting. And because...because she always wanted me to be your friend. You such were an ugly, loud, mud-covered brat when you were young but you’re...different now. So I thought I should grant her wish after all.” A deep crimson blush, made even more vibrant in contrast to his snowy hair, blossomed across his cheeks. It must have been contagious, because you could feel heat rising on your face as well.

“W-what do you mean I was an ugly brat?! I was a normal child.” You blurted out with indignation.

“No, you were gross, just like that poor excuse for a pie.” He answered, his sassy attitude returning despite the lingering pink tinge of his cheeks.

You took the insult in stride, choosing to ignore it rather than start another battle of wits that you were sure to lose.

“You said that you were lonely. Where are the other nymphs?”

“They’re all spirits now. When a nymph comes of age they can choose to keep their corporeal form or they can become spirits. Most choose to become spirits because, I mean, you’re becoming one with nature and what more could you want than that? We aren’t born very often so it makes for a lonely childhood, which is another compelling argument for choosing a spirit form- you’re never technically alone again. I chose to stay in this body.” He finished matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

“I loved the old lady. I didn’t want to leave her. She asked me to watch over you for her and I wouldn’t want to leave you either. Even if you were a snot-nosed brat.”

“Well, you know they say that the ugliest ducklings are destined to become the most beautiful swans, so I’ll thank you for thinking so highly of me.” You teased, tapping Minhyuk’s nose with your finger playfully.

To your general astonishment his saturated blush from before returned.

“I never called you beautiful.” He stammered, looking away from you.

“But, do you think I’m beautiful? Nymphs can’t lie, right?” You asked, smirking as you peered at him, trying to get a better look at his face.

“No, nymphs can’t lie. And yes, I do think you’re very, very beautiful.” He whispered, still refusing to meet your eyes.

It was your turn for your face to glow like a sunset. You’d asked, expecting a snarky answer, not fully believing what he’d said previously about nymphs being bound to their honesty. Your lips formed a small, wordless “oh” as you stared at him, awestruck.

“You’re still a terrible baker though, so don’t let it go to your head.”

***

You pulled the oven door open with apprehension, bracing yourself for another failure, and gasped loudly when instead your eyes fell on what appeared to be a flawless blueberry pie.

You bounced on the balls of your heels excitedly before carefully extracting the dessert from the oven and placing it on the windowsill to cool where you could admire it safely from afar.

“Ahh, I can’t wait to show Minhyuk!” You squealed, clapping your hands together.

“Can’t wait to show me what?”

You whirled around, more shocked than you perhaps should have been to find Minhyuk leaning against your doorframe.

In the weeks that had passed since he shared his stories about your Aunt with you he had been a near constant presence in your home, always making stupid excuses for why he’s there like “I’m just making sure you aren’t hiding any cucumber in my pie”. You had offered to let him stay over since you felt a little bad for him sleeping in the outdoors alone, but he always shyly declined.

“Come, look!” You were already dragging him by the hand to the window to show him your handiwork.

“Wow, that doesn’t look half bad.” He whistled, eyeing it with great interest, eyes sparkling. He took a step towards it, arm outstretched, earning a whack on the shoulder from you.

“It isn’t ready yet! It still has to cool or you’ll burn yourself.” You chastised, moving protectively in front of your masterpiece, hands on your hips.

“Okay, fine, fine.” Minhyuk said, massaging his shoulder with one hand and stifling a yawn with the other.

“Sleepy?”

He nodded, swallowing another yawn behind his large palm.

“Its getting harder to sleep outside at night these days. Getting cold. I heard that long ago, when humans were less prevalent on Earth, it was more common for nymphs to choose to keep their physical forms. I always wonder what they did to keep warm.”

“Why don’t you take a nap while the pie cools? After you eat maybe we can think of some solutions for that.”

Minhyuk nodded, too exhausted to argue. He refused to be led to the bed though, insisting instead to sit next to you on the couch and sleep sitting up.

His resistance didn’t last. Before long he slumped to his side, his head tumbling into your lap. You caught your gasp in your hand, stifling it and carefully setting down the spellbook you’d been perusing while he napped so your movements wouldn’t disturb him while he slumbered.

You watched him sleep, oddly comfortable despite the slight awkwardness of his face pressed into your bare thighs. Without thinking your hand found his hair, smoothing it gently, relishing in how impossibly silken it was, your fingers gliding through the soft strands like they were water.

Minhyuk’s eyes shot open and you went to pull your hand away, embarrassed, but he caught it in his, holding you firmly in place as he adjusted himself so he was facing you. He stared up at you, blinking the sleep from his eyes, not speaking or removing his head from your legs.

“I-I think the pie should be ready by now,” You supplied after several long moments of silence, hoping to diffuse the tension in the air. “Why don’t we go get some?”

Minhyuk didn’t move immediately and something in his expression was making you feel like you were frozen in place, like he was seeing right through you and counting each of your racing heart beats in slow motion.

He finally lifted himself from your lap and quietly made his way to the kitchen and sat at the dinner table, waiting expectantly. You retrieved the pie, regretting that you hadn’t tried it yourself first as you cut a generous piece for him and slid it on a plate. You were silently praying to anyone that would listen that it would taste as good as it looked.

To your surprise Minhyuk didn’t hesitate to pile his fork with the pastry and bring it to his waiting mouth. You had expected him to make some catty remark about you trying the first bite, or taking a tiny bite “just in case”.

‘He must really be exhausted if he’s being so docile.’ You thought to yourself as you watched him chew with bated breath.

When he swallowed you swallowed with him out of nerves. The seconds of silence seemed like they stretched into hours as you waited for his reaction, but it never came. Instead he simply loaded up his fork again and took another bite, closing his eyes while he chewed. He continued like this until his plate was as clean as when you’d taken it out of the cabinet.

“Well? How was it?” You finally inquired, unable to contain yourself any longer, your nervousness making your voice come out in a higher pitch than normal.

Minhyuk stood, the sound of the chair scraping the floor making you jump, and moved towards you as if in a daze.

When his lips met yours, they tasted strongly of blueberry and sugar. You were too surprised to move at first but the ice around you slowly melted as he held you and your arms slowly circled his waist as your lips molded to his, your eyes fluttering closed.

His hands crept down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he deepened the kiss. You felt your legs starting to wobble while he explored your mouth, the sweet taste of sugar and fruit on his tongue overwhelming your senses. His hold on you was all that was keeping you upright and you were starting to wonder if this was going to be the way you died, in the arms of a beautiful man without a breath of air left in your lungs, when he pulled away at last, chest heaving while you both struggled to catch your breath.

Minhyuk leaned forward, kissing your forehead softly in stark contrast to the heated one he’d pressed to your lips moments ago.

“It was wonderful.” He whispered, his lips moving against your forehead as they formed his words. He took a step back, his eyes overflowing with affection, and moved past you and out of the room. You followed him as he stumbled into your room, his exhaustion evidently taking over as he collapsed into your bed face first.

The deep breaths he was taking were confirmation enough that he had fallen asleep. You smiled tenderly as you looked down at his sleeping form fondly. Warmth bubbled up from the very tips of your toes, spreading throughout your body in a wave, making you feel impossibly at peace. You sighed through your nose, contented. Seeing him sleeping in your bed just felt so...right.

You padded back to the kitchen as slowly and silently as you could muster so as not to disturb your slumbering guest. You moved to cover the remaining pie and put it in the refrigerator for later, but stilled as something odd caught your attention from the corner of your eye.

Your cauldron, which you’d abandoned with your last failed experiment still stuck like cement to the bottom of it, was bubbling merrily. You rushed over, panic-stricken, and gasped when your nose was assaulted with the scent of fresh florals. The failed potion from before had sprung to life, it’s contents now a color that reminded you of Minhyuk’s hair, a comparison that made your cheeks flush involuntarily.

Then, as if you were struck by lighting, you were rooted to where you stood with the gears in your mind turning faster than you could comprehend. You glanced back at the sleeping nymph, realization finally dawning on you. A soft gasp slipped through your lips and the rosy color on your face deepened to a blazing scarlet.

You tentatively dipped a ladle into the concoction, sniffing its contents gingerly before taking a hesitant sip. Your eyes squeezed shut, a smile winding its way through your lips. You’d finally done it. You laughed to yourself at the irony of the situation, your eyes settling on the heather wreath swaying delicately in the breeze from the open window.

You’d been trying to all this time to create something that you were lacking when the ingredient you needed was what you were missing all along.

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

Text

[SF] Just a first draft, would appreciate any pointers

A hand emerges; enormous, colossal. Protruding, spiny tendons snake like oaken roots from strong, dexterous fingers into the damp, moss covered ground. Another, like sized hand surfaces to grasp a hardened willow, bark tearing as black fingernails dig deep in wooden flesh. Darkened muscle against darkened soil against darkened moonlight coils, surges, and onyx mass continues to galavant from the Earth. In this witching hour, by rock and stillborn wind, none awaken to the silent, seemless, ceaseless birth. Base notes pound, and the creature surfaces to the swelling orchestra.

Glowering thunder lies dormant in its empty eye sockets, as the creature, blacker than a frosted winter night, stands level. Broken obsidian juts from its jagged jaw, and stretches across its peninsular-like spine, a shattered, cluttered exoskeleton. Wood chips collect under its fingernails. The surrounding woods darken and collect. The night lengthens.

The muggy stench that exists solely in a single tent on a summer night drives me out to the moon and wind. Sweat beads continue to roll down my skin. Even outside the heat is inescapable. A lone boobook owl hoots, a soloist instrument amongst the concerto of crickets and cicadas. Moonlight cascades through the canopy of leaves. And so I begin to carefully place footsteps amongst the fallen undergrowth behind me. Tonight will be number 6 on the sleepless night count.

Despite the heat I’m glad I’m away. It hadn’t exactly been easy, especially with work, but “challenge” wasn’t quite apt either. The conversation had gone smoothly with her. I’m still unsure whether thats good or bad.

“One night is all I’d need really” “Just one?” I remember she’d had a tiny piece of avocado hanging off her chin. She wasn’t a messy eater. “Fair enough”

Rachmaninoff’s “Concerto No.2 in C minor” filled in the rest of the conversation, the words disappearing behind the music. Rather a strange choice for dinner music. I’d heard the piece for the first time roughly a week ago, in the small coffee shop at the end of our road. Always playing records of the romantic period, I often visited purely to sit in a complete soundscape. The coffee often disappointed. Surrounded by the likes of Debussy, Satie, Ravel, the dramatic, chaotic cohesion of Rachmaninoff stood out like a beautifully enormous thumb. It emerged from its ambient atmosphere like a coil from its delicate eggshell. The building tension and base notes crash over me under the moonlight

1900; Rachmaninoff decides he doesn’t like Russia. Sitting in his study, the cold naws into his exposed fingers, hands resting on the piano. Strings tiptoe through his mind and he feels his face downturn. Frowning always came easily with a hook nice like his. The taste returns to him, the same one that had first coated his mouth the night of March 28, 1897. A symphonic disaster, as the critics labelled it…

He’d heard people laughing at him, or he swear he could have, as he’d rushed from the theatre. Shoving his fedora tight on his head and upturning his collar, his 6’ 4” figure struggled to remain hidden. Such a way to start a composing career. He knew it before he read it, how the critics would write. He knew, and he could taste it.

...The piano feels alien to him. So long has it been since white fell to black fell to white. His fingers tremble slightly. Outside he feels he can hear the sigh only brought on by early morning dishwashing.

He begins to play. A chord, foreshadowing, soft at first. Another, accompanied this time with the dull thud of a bass note. Octaves build, dissonance rises, tension escalates. And then, his hands begin to dance: arpeggios, rolling, spinning, rising, cracking through the eggshell, a momentous outbreak. His fingers stop. A few notes more and the strings will come in. The orchestra stands ready in his head, symphonic swell at the ready, well rehearsed from the many hours spun through the theatre of his mind. If he so chose, the entire piece could be notated and ready for release: “Piano Concerto No.2 in C Minor”

He hates it.

His fist curls and with an enormous swing, he brings his gargantuan hand cracking down on the keys. A clatter of pained confusion fills the room. Another swing and his hand begins to bleed, red on white on black -

He hates it.

-another shattering swing, this time his left hand. His bones clack like keys as they break in his fingers -

He hates the way it sounds, the way his hands feel on the piano.

-both hands at the same time now, more keys break -

Most of all, he hates that he loves it. Hates that he thinks its good. Hates the hope he has.

-moving to the back of the piano, he lifts the lid, bringing his monstrous hands down on the strings -

He hates his work, his incompetence at composition.

-with an all mighty heave, he flips the piano, and it crashes to the ground beyond repair. A silent promise slips from his lips. Never again, shall he play Concerto No.2 in C minor -

He hates the piano.

The creature is everything. Its empty gaze bores deep into me. Staring into that creature I feel as if I am in an endless library of infinite knowledge, except all the books face backwards, the spines impossible to read. The tendrils that spring from its features drag my view in, until all I see is the creature. It holds all attention in its obelisk hands, the upturned moon and choir of forests drawn closer. A silence settles. Yet I feel Rachmaninoff’s Concerto within me. It rumbles across my mindscape like unbroken thunder. Large hands strangle, as the world goes dark

Finally, I sleep. Deep. Uncompromising. Fulfilling

Rachmaninoff sits at his broken piano. Some of the keys are out of tune. Others are missing. Only one of the three pedals remains, and part of the lid is chipped, lost forever. In the dark he sits on his stool. And his hands begin to dance.

submitted by /u/eeeeeeeeeeek_7 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2tqAa13

#Blogger #Story

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theinvinciblenoob · 7 years ago

Link

I dig on my employer Oath, and then Tencent Music notes and a major loss for the NYC ecosystem and what it means for open source.

TechCrunch is experimenting with new content forms. This is a rough draft of something new – provide your feedback directly to the author (Danny at [email protected]) if you like or hate something here.

My three word Oath? I’m with stupid

It goes without saying that this piece about my employer is my work alone, doesn’t reflect management’s views, and is done under the auspices of TechCrunch’s independent editorial voice. No usage of internal information is assumed or implied.

This is a piece about TechCrunch’s parent company, formerly known as “Oath:” (okay just Oath, but who am I to flout a mandatory colon?) and now ReBranded as Verizon Media Group / Oath (See what they did there? They literally slashed Oath. Poetic).

Oath is essentially the creature of Frankenstein, a middle-school corporate alchemy experiment to fuse the properties of the companies formerly known as AOL and Yahoo into the larger behemoth known as Verizon. You can feel the terrible synergy emanating from the multiple firewalls it takes to get to our corporate resources.

Oath has a problem:* it needs to grow for Wall Street to be happy and for Verizon not to neuter it, but it has an incredible penchant for making product decisions that basically tell users to fuck off. Oath’s year over year revenues last quarter were down 6.9%, driven by extreme competition from digital ad leaders Google and Facebook.

The solution apparently? Drive page views down. If that logic doesn’t make sense, well then, maybe you should fill out a job application.

The kerfuffle is over Tumblr, which is among Oath’s most important brands, in that people actually know what it is and kind of still like it. Tumblr, which Yahoo notably acquired under Marissa Mayer back in 2013, has been something of a product orphan — one of the few true software platforms left in a world filled with editorial content like TechCrunch and HuffPost (Oath sold off Flickr earlier this year to SmugMug — which also seems to be going through its own boneheaded product decision phase).

All was well and good — well, at least quiet — in the Tumblr world until Apple pulled the plug on Tumblr’s app in the App Store a few weeks ago over claims of child porn. Now let’s be absolutely clear: child porn is abhorrent, and filtering it out of online photo sharing sites is a prime directive (and legally mandated).

But Oath has decided to do something equally obnoxious: it intends to ban anything that might be considered “adult content” starting December 17th, just in time for the holidays when purity around family gatherings is key.

In Tumblr’s policy, “Adult content primarily includes photos, videos, or GIFs that show real-life human genitals or female-presenting nipples, and any content—including photos, videos, GIFs and illustrations—that depicts sex acts.” You’ll notice the written legerdemain — “primarily” doesn’t exclude the wider world of adult-oriented content that almost invariably is going to be subsumed under this policy.

Obviously, adults (and presumably teens as well) are pissed. As users are starting to see what photos are getting flagged (hint: not the ones with porn in them), that’s only making them more angry.

Oath is attempting to compress the content moderation engineering and testing of Facebook down to a span of a few weeks. And Facebook hasn’t even figured this one out yet, which is why people are still being murdered across the world from viral messages and memes it hosts that incite ethnic hatred and genocide.

I get the pressure from Apple. I get the safety of saying “just ban all the images” à la Renaissance pope. I get the business decision of trying to maintain Tumblr’s clean image. These points are all reasonable, but they all are just useless without Tumblr’s core and long-time users.

What flummoxes me from a product perspective is that it’s not as if banning all adult content is the singular solution to the problem. There is an entire spectrum of product, policy, legal, and product cultural ingredients that could be drawn upon. There could be more age verification, better separation of “safe for children” and “meant for adults content,” and more focus on messaging to users that moderation was meant to help the product and focus audiences rather than to puritanically filter.

Or you can just kill the photos, the somehow still loyal core user base, a safe space for expression via nudity and sexuality and, well, traffic along with it. And then you look at -6.9% growth and think: huh, I wonder if there is a connection.

*Mandatory colon

Tencent Music reintroduces its IPO

Tencent Music. Photo by Zhan Min/VCG via Getty Images

Maybe the IPO markets are thawing a bit after the crash of the last few weeks and…tariffs. From my colleague Catherine Shu:

Tencent Music Entertainment’s initial public offering is back in motion, two months after the company reportedly postponed it amid a global selloff. In a regulatory filing today, the company, China’s largest streaming music service, said it plans to offer 82 million American depositary shares (ADS), representing 164 million Class A ordinary shares, for between $13 to $15 each. That means the IPO will potentially raise up to $1.23 billion.

My colleague Eric Peckham wrote a deeper dive behind the lessons of Tencent Music for the broader music industry:

At its heart, Tencent Music is an interactive media company. Its business isn’t merely providing music, it’s getting people to engage around music. Given its parent company Tencent has become the leading force in global gaming—with control of League of Legends maker Riot Games and Clash of Clans maker Supercell, plus a 40 percent stake in Fortnite creator Epic Games, and role as the top mobile games publisher in China—its team is well-versed in the dynamics of in-game purchasing.

Tencent Music has staked out a very differentiated business model from Spotify, Pandora, Apple Music, etc. It has used an engagement-based product model to make live-streaming and virtual gifts huge business lines, without dealing with the product marketing logistics of subscription. Where the West always asks you to pay for access, Tencent is asking you essentially to pay to have fun and be part of an experience.

Eric asks I think a deep question: why hasn’t this model (which seems particularly obvious in music given the overall events component of that business) been back-ported from China to the Western world? He sees a world where Facebook buys Spotify (I don’t) but I think there is absolutely a gap in the market for a music platform to really own this model.

NYC loses an open-source superstar

Photo: Amanda Hall / robertharding / Getty Images

Wes McKinney is a major open-source star and the engineer behind pandas, which is one of the fundamental Python data libraries, as well as a founding engineer of Apache Arrow, which is an in-memory data structure specification.

So it is big news that he has decided to decamp from New York City, where has has lived for ten years, to Nashville. Writing on his personal blog:

I’ve increasingly felt that open source development is at odds with the values that are driving a large portion of the corporate world, particularly in the United States. Many companies won’t fund open source work because there is no “return on investment”. This is deeply frustrating, and being surrounded by people whose actions align with profit-motive can be pretty discouraging. It’s not necessarily that people who work in NYC or SF are greedy or amorally concerned with making money. In many cases they are just responding to incentives coming from pretty low on the hierarchy of needs.

And

Full-time open source developers in many cases will make less money than their peers who work at Google, Facebook, Microsoft, Apple, or another major tech company. If we are to enable more people to do open source development as a full-time vocation, we need to grow supportive tech communities in places that are more affordable. (emphasis his).

I think this is a very interesting trend to watch in the coming years. It’s not just the small business and art types who want to move to lower cost locales to match their lifestyle spending to the (economic) value of their work. Software developers who want to work on more meaningful projects outside of advertising and finance will also increasingly need to consider these sorts of geographical adjustments.

As I wrote a few months ago about digital nomads:

From cryptocurrency millionaires in Puerto Rico to digital nomads in hotspots like Thailand, Indonesia, and Colombia, there is increasingly a view that there is a marketplace for governance, and we hold the power as consumers. Much like choosing a cereal from the breakfast department of a supermarket, highly-skilled professionals are now comparing governments online — and making clear-headed choices based on which ones are most convenient and have the greatest amenities available.

Economic migration — whether from cost-of-living, ecosystem or governance culture, or just for new horizons — is the watchword of this century. It’s a huge loss for NYC that people like McKinney can no longer find their work compatible with the city.

What’s next

I am still obsessing about next-gen semiconductors. If you have thoughts there, give me a ring: [email protected].

Thoughts on Articles

Imagined Communities – a major classic book of social science thought, it’s amazing how well it has held up, and the lessons it holds for us in the cyber age. Intending to write a review of it for this weekend, so expect more notes later.

Quietly, Japan has established itself as a power in the aerospace industry – I love industrial policy and national economic development, and Eric Berger has done a great job on both fronts with his dispatch in Ars Technica. Japan is roaring back into space, increasing its launch capabilities and also preparing to deploy its own GPS infrastructure. An important contextual read for those who follow SpaceX.

Why we stopped trusting elites — a compelling deep dive by William Davies in The Guardian into how populism is animated by the failures of elites. Couldn’t agree more that elites have lost significant trust over the last few decades, mostly from hubris, corruption, and outright fraud (the financial crisis being just the largest). Elites need to hold themselves to much higher standards if we want to ask our fellow citizens for their support.

Reading docket

What I’m reading (or at least, trying to read)

Huge long list of articles on next-gen semiconductors. More to come shortly.

via TechCrunch

#IFTTT #TechCrunch

0 notes

fmservers · 7 years ago

Text

Why Oath keeps Tumblring

I dig on my employer Oath, and then Tencent Music notes and a major loss for the NYC ecosystem and what it means for open source.

My three word Oath? I’m with stupid

The solution apparently? Drive page views down. If that logic doesn’t make sense, well then, maybe you should fill out a job application.

Obviously, adults (and presumably teens as well) are pissed. As users are starting to see what photos are getting flagged (hint: not the ones with porn in them), that’s only making them more angry.

*Mandatory colon

Tencent Music reintroduces its IPO

Tencent Music. Photo by Zhan Min/VCG via Getty Images

Maybe the IPO markets are thawing a bit after the crash of the last few weeks and…tariffs. From my colleague Catherine Shu:

My colleague Eric Peckham wrote a deeper dive behind the lessons of Tencent Music for the broader music industry:

NYC loses an open-source superstar

Photo: Amanda Hall / robertharding / Getty Images

So it is big news that he has decided to decamp from New York City, where has has lived for ten years, to Nashville. Writing on his personal blog:

And

As I wrote a few months ago about digital nomads:

What’s next

I am still obsessing about next-gen semiconductors. If you have thoughts there, give me a ring: [email protected].

Thoughts on Articles

Reading docket

What I’m reading (or at least, trying to read)

Huge long list of articles on next-gen semiconductors. More to come shortly.

Via Danny Crichton https://techcrunch.com

#TechCrunch

0 notes

autoirishlitdiscourses · 8 years ago

Text

Discourse of Sunday, 16 July 2017

I try to force a discussion of the quarter, and you picked to the aspects of your ideas onto electronic paper is when you look at anyone else's copy, because as declared in the past, you related your discussion. And your writing. Getting called in to get back to you. Also productive: think about Fluther's point of analysis is that you should be to have dug into these in more close detail. Participatory-ness, I suppose, would be most helpful at this point and might be rephrased as what parallels do you think? Picking a selection from one topic to topic is a way that gender and sexuality are constructed, or the other members of the novel as a section that night. This means that, when I pass it out; if you're talking in general terms last night, and only looking at it closely, and I would have helped to have thrown them away when going through miscellaneous papers last week? Your overall narrative is fundamentally very fair in most places. You had said to other students were engaged, and this is absolutely in range for you? I think, too. You have at least twelve lines of Yeats's Under Ben Bulben you're reciting. One problem that keeps her alive up to this emotion and the section website in a lot of ways that support your specific point, thematically, you can point to the question unconsidered or otherwise just want the experience to be at least one of the female, the winter of perfect communion; To-morrow for the Croppies Yeats, Joyce, or sent to me/.

I get is that if it's necessary to do this well in the relationship is between the texts, and you can bring your luggage during section that I've pointed to some extent in some other measure? Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail. I think, is to engage critically with reliable historical sources would pay off—the refusal to push it further: Hannah Arendt's book On the other group. If you are planning on using equipment. OK with the professor has said that he had only picked three, instead of panicking and answering them yourself. I'll see you in the future. I think that there are ways that you follow that up by providing a nuanced reading of is one-third of a text during the first group covers material that you should be adaptable in terms of which assume that they'll be able to speak, though My current plan is to focus it on Slideshare and linking to the MLA standard.

SF author Frank Herbert's creepy and implausibly Lamarckian notion of cellular individual memory and history. I think that your crazy life is not the only thing preventing you from analyzing closely. I'm just trying to crash. —You have good, and your health is good for you or me, and you'll get more than the syllabus for that assignment and may serve a number of elements that you're likely to be successful. Is that your delivery was a typo in one of the Penelope episode 5 p. How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. Both are possibilities due to hasty editing and/or b temptation the general reading of the word love to mean that each absence hurts your ability to be helpful during paper-grading rubric possibly modified by up to you after you've written, would help you to let you know that there are certainly other possibilities.

Great! You may want to accept the offer. Paper Guidelines: Your quote from the copy on my attendance sheet make sure I'm about to turn in your paper grades discussed in class with respect. Have a good selection, in order to move forward and make sure that you're more effectively. You must turn in your delivery; perfect textual accuracy was otherwise perfect. You also demonstrated that you are certainly other possibilities, you do a couple of things going with the assumption that you may want to recite and discuss can be in South Hall 3431 by 1. I sent you about the offer. It can also be read as, say, Welp, guess I'll have some very, very well done overall. Just let me know if you count days from a consideration of the quarter, unfortunately.

I've got you down to three things, thinking a bit in the long run. Just let me know, you may recall as the weeks progress, very articulate paper here. I'll have one of three people who attended last night's optional review session Tuesday night, and how is the midterm exam. In all of the exchange rate between the selection. Thanks for working so hard and participating so much the case and I appreciate that you will pick up points for your understanding of their work relates to WB's work. I think that one thing that's holding your sophisticated set of ideas. However, I will pass out copies of all of these women is inappropriate? Tonight's paper-grading rubric that I wasn't engaged in memorization and recitation of at least a short description of your paper does not necessarily that you'll do very well be quite a good but quite difficult piece of reportage, or not you, but th' silk thransparent stockin's showin' off; dropping warm from Out in th' shade of a selection from McCabe in your section this quarter? Again, thank you for doing a number of points that are ostensibly on the sheet handed out today to be most helpful at this point would be for earlier rather than lecture-based hygiene in Lestrygonians. I think that there is at least twelve lines if I recall my ancient reading of Ulysses in a productive discussion, either in linking to it from being in class so far, with each other. So, if you want to go over twelve my 5 p. You are absolutely welcome to sit down and writing a draft is the portrayal of the rhythm of the room for 65 minutes at that point in the last few days once you've produced a draft, so although there's no overlap in terms of which I think that the video supplements the lyrics or music the color green, for that opinion, anyway. On the other, broader problem is that you have any other questions, OK? 415-20, p. I explicitly say so as to cut into the final. Picking a selection from Ulysses in front of the quarter, I do quite a good job digging in to something quite productive, but that it deserves on that section attendance and participation will probably make some very enjoyable poetry. Thanks for being such a strong job of discussion and question provoked close readings would help you to engage the reader, it was understood both closer to being good mothers? If you want to prove, and I hope that you're feeling so poorly that I'd be happy to provide the largest overall benefit to the central elements in this way is that the complex material you're dealing with in their papers, but will make it pay off for you that I disagree with you to refine your topic needs more attention than you did a good selection and gave an excellent job of setting up a real discussion to motivate other people. However, you related it well in addition to giving you the option has/has been assigned yet, but your delivery; you also gave an engaged, and exhibiting solicitous concern for emotions that they are or are we really getting his fantasies? Of course! Without going back through your topic needs more focus in order to move into discussion of the poem, ending with a more specific about exactly what you're doing the reading if you want to make sense, just over 87% in the text, but that would have to accept an F, having talked about this the anxiety of influence because of its lack of authorial framing in the best option for you to get an A-is possible, OK? You covered some important things to think specifically about romantic love, since it's been posted to the characteristics that you won't have time to accomplish, intellectually speaking, and your analytical exploration of a country Begins as attachment to our understandings of femininity? There are two potential difficulties that you're making dinner, waiting for the four grades outside the range of phenomena in your section is UXJU. 292, p. The study of 'Ulysses' is, you were very sensitive and nuanced, and will not approach a piece of writing in most places of suboptimal phrasing, so you need to talk about. Hi, Miguel! Hi! 292, p. I think you gloss over some of the time lecture starts on page 12 of the rhythm of the text that you've picked some good questions and frame them. The Patriot Game, mentioned in lecture yesterday: The Search for the rest of the text as someone else who generally falls into that range was flagrantly giving up points for section next week. You also did a solid, though as I am personally less than thrilled about with this edition of Opened Ground. Grading Rubric for Analytical Papers I expect students will do so by 10 p. Hi! Instead, I think. In each case, let me know what they're dealing with this phrase in the 6 p. Doing this effectively if the first people to speak can be a productive direction, I absolutely have to go into nitpicky editing mode on a paper.

One thing that would have helped to contextualize it better, I guess I'll have her talk to other parts of The Butcher Boy is Y, then, unless you're definitely ready to write your paper to make a specific question you're answering. Departures were planned in advance or have been pushed even further. Please let me now what you can go, which has decent but not catastrophically so.

Question, I think that the topic further: how is the midterm and recitation. Remember that you check your delivery was a pleasure having you in section. Remember that your thesis. You've got some good questions and were not too late to pick one option from section that you made constant insightful, moving delivery and wait for your loss, and the bees are building in an American work, OK? All of these are very solid job here. Both are plausible readings, I think, would pay off for you on which Ulysses is that you should definitely both be there. If you're interested in? Alternately, we can chat after lecture, and I've read it closely in view during your discussion plans. To put it another way of thinking about how you can absolutely do Wandering Aengus can you still manage to apply it with other concerns that are dangerous for the final exam and when it comes down to thanking the previous reciters' discussion it's perfectly acceptable topic. Molly. Focusing on discussions of course readings or issues leading up to be a more fluid, impassioned delivery of Lucky's speech and, as it appears in in my other section is also a Twitter stream. What you'll be good enough. There were several ways that support you makes your teaching practices visible I post every slideshow I develop, so it's no inconvenience for me for any other week. You will also post whatever you send me an email saying that your paper. I asked him for a recitation. Doing this effectively if the equipment you are not enough points on the day you are expected to treat in a way that shows you paid close attention to your paper/takes interpretive risks or make sure that you're doing. In any case, let it motivate other people in the section meetings are a number of shifts in emphasis involved. There were four errors in the final, you responded effectively to larger concerns. He has not scheduled a recitation in front of the difficulties too quickly, and then look back with a fair assessment of your total grade for the quarter progresses, but your delivery was a much cleaner text than to worry about whether you're technically meeting the discussion. Question perfectly, and is also a thinking process too, if you can't get to all questions about the recitation. But this is definitely within range for you. 140 at Davy Byrne's VIII. All in all, you've done so, probably due to a cause emerge, and this is how I assign your outline will be, in relation to its own take on the paper suggests fundamental problems with that requirement this late in the question?

Participatory, as is any selection from Ulysses, but that one of three groups reciting from McCabe in your parenthetical citations in-section recitation, and I won't assess participation until the very small-scale concerns very effectively and provided a structured discussion that followed. I'm leaning toward putting you either cross them or want you to work out in a different direction. A, if you've prepared separately, then it makes your quite excellent work at the time. Scores on section website after your recitation and presentation later this week Yeats is not the only student who was scheduled to recite from McCabe, might wind up being narcissistic and that the performance and discussion: that, in fact no masses; there are places where you need to expose your own argument, rather than the top five or six. Hello, I think that you've prepared separately, then this change does not merely performing an analysis of a guinea's value 1. The Theatre of the novel itself?

This includes your midterm, recitation, please leave the group is not obscene: Why the humanities, or that a strong conclusion that ties into the A range. They have to satisfy an essential element from the midterm, then there are many many other gendered representations here. Section 3. This does not exempt you from noticing when people were hesitant to quote in, say, Leopold Bloom or Francie Brady, his Dynamism of a heterosexual romantic relationship is between the texts you choose as additional sources, but they've added up.

Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and pretend you're not sure that your introduction: what, ultimately, what kinds of political beliefs does the show is that you did very well on the final from my section website. Part of the section, not Patrick Kavanagh, Innocence Remember that you can't get to Downton Abbey, if you'd like.

Passages for close reading of the text than to worry about taking longer than I had better answers for the quarter, and I will take this into account. Synge's text, despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments I've made some very good work for you to dig deeper and/or last, please let me know as soon as I can be a very good sense of the less obvious but not the same way my first year in grad school with my own reaction would be higher than a general overview of topics here that's too big to treat you as you write, but will get you more specific topic and has notes on areas in which hawthorn bushes often mark a boundary between this world and the enormity of the section as a last resort are constantly shown to be successful if you have previously been attending but not catastrophically so. He has not been lost, exactly, but there wasn't really much in the third year in a lot of reasons, one of Kavanaugh, Boland, and the Sirens 1891. Perfect. Can't blame them after all, you should be set up to your overall logico-narrative and value? Flip through them first-person pronoun that often small changes in the Ulysses lectures which, given the sophistication that your paper's structure is elegant and graceful, and I will respond to a strong job here with a fresh eye, asking yourself, as you can make a choice it certainly won't hurt your grade. It isn't enough to impede an understanding of a guinea's value 1. You'll get that in advance with the Disabled Students Program. Have a good match for the bus on the Web at or take advantage and to avoid the outside world. Let me know if you want to view their introductory video to see how much is cuing off of his lecture pace rather than treating them as choices made as a whole. This might be said about Gino Severini, another TA for English 150 Fall 2013 Overview: Recall from the text of Pearse's speech that is, after all, you are fundamentally wrong about this, here is going to motivate them to take so long to get warmed up more points than you have 86. I'll see you then! Let me know. A-. You may remember that you attribute to them; c divorce is essentially impossible in Ireland at the front of the text than to maintain a separate document, I will respond as quickly as I can attest from personal experience that being a strongly motivated textual selection does not necessarily that you'll drag it up on the essay portion of your presentation notes would be to think about it more sharply. There are any changes made I have myself occasionally noticed that none of these are often sophisticated and your writing is generally not only keeps us on task, as well. Let me know if you want any changes, I'd move into the A range.

I think that, just as Shakespeare doesn't necessarily have to ponder. All of these are probably good ways to get people warmed up and either satisfies or frustrates the expectation for the standard academic problematizing introduction ending with a worn pick, and I will happily give you credit for your material you emphasize I think that one place where I was now a month and a half pages from a topic. Ultimately, like getting letters of recommtion, because you don't lose points for that it would have helped to be less emphasized than, say, none of these are important considerations for grounding your analysis, even if it were a good sense of the A range for the students introduced themselves, but you did get the breathless exhausted happy quality of the professor's signature by next Friday 13 December, you did quite a strong job in the play, and you receive no credit for attendance and participation, your best to surpass them; or record yourself giving a more successful, though. Hi!

A-. I'm glad to have one of them were due to hasty editing and/or b temptation the general introduction to things that we read though you may not arise to give a paper, and your close attention to the fact that you want to discuss. Very well done overall. I expected, and he has to somehow be constructed through texts that you are reading in class at this point. If people aren't talking because they will benefit from exploring in relation to do this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a number of points ostensibly on the final. Why this particular question, which pulled the grades up for a single goal. You'll get that to be the first chapter of it individually. Questions? You are entirely up to an even stronger work on this question, but has borrowed several pages of the text carefully, because this book has similar interpretive problems as Ulysses a good job with it—and to focus your discussion could have been to make a decision to pick up your recitation, you in section. I; The photographing of ravens; all the presentations graded by then.

Let me know if you want to accept the offer is made based on the other side of the emotional aspects of the assignment and may not be generally useful resources for scholarly research in the best possible light in the same number of intriguing suggestions that I haven't watched Dexter? One way to construct a valid MLA citation to the group discourse on a larger-scale, but I think, always a good student and absolutely capable of doing even better on future pieces of your discussion tonight.

I can attest you clearly have excellent things to say that a few specific places where your phrasing is suboptimal or doesn't quite say what you want is that we have a specific explanation of why this second reaction might occur, and then look back with comments at the moment and say, because the other hand, and they all essentially boil down to is that you would need to be alive; you should then discuss the general introduction to things that you picked, the sex-food combination pops up! 8% slightly more than three times, if you'd like. You have excellent things to say that your grade should be substantiating some aspect of the section during our first section meeting. This means that the more specific ideas when you see as significant and connecting them to larger-scale issues that I've left it unclear and/or b what this tells us about the comparative benefits of taking the discussion keep going for as you write your papers. It's yours now. —You really want to try to force a discussion of White Hawthorn in the front of the first time, it feels to me, for instance, you should have the correct forms for a few that were. I think, to talk about a third of a particular story you gesture toward this in case of hasty writing and thought closely about delivery and then look back with comments at the last day, then revise your thesis statement, then looking at it with a selection from the course so far of giving a more analytically incisive paper. Your writing is also potentially interesting ways to satisfy this requirement. These should be proud, and have never yet had much of the topic down to the aspects of your material, and I can attest that this has happened, review briefly any major points that it's not too late to leave by 5 p. Discussion: Well done on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale payoff why is this connected to the MLA format is followed, or turf, from the group. Pick a few things that you're scheduled to recite. I think that there are a lot of important ways. In some cases, writers of C-67% 70% D 63% 67% D 60% 63% D-—You've done a solid job tonight I'll get back to you staying within the realm of possibility for you. However, I will make sure it's too late to leave me with a good student and my gut feeling on the other TA notices you're there during attendance, and converted the interior monologue into intelligible and articulate and have not been speaking regularly so far.

Recitations this week. Hi! Welcome to do. Let me know what you would lead people up for points that will occasionally have reminders, announcements, and. Hook-up, but if that's easier. Skim some of them were due to proofread effectively in your particular case, one that gestures toward an overall narrative for the delay. Just a quick note to find that action of little importance Though never indifferent. Let me know if you do a couple of things really well in many ways. You may find interesting, and/or abuse is a difficult skill to learn and I completely appreciate that you're dealing with the questions were so open-ended would have helped you to be on Nov. There are a lot of good things to learn. If you need to represent them even further, you don't lose points for that week is the case for you sometimes it's necessary to try to I will cut you off unless you go back to then? I hope you had a good Thanksgiving! Or keep your eye more clearly, but I think that one difficulty you'd have to work effectively as a bridge to question 2, again, this is the highest grade that you propose in your work on future writing assignments. I'm glad to be one, but won't know what works for you. If you go over, and the way that the O'Shea/Parnell scandal indicates something structural about the distrust of the novel. I'll have to do them gracefully into an effective relationship with his wife, Annie, in relation to the traditional southern English May Day celebrations, and your ideas. This may seem like you were pausing for dramatic tension.

A paper, but you were on track throughout your time and wind up with an A, for instance, you currently have just over 87% in the humanities, or you can bring your luggage to section and the concerns in Irish: English translation: The Dubliners' version of your paper will almost certainly already know that I've left it unclear and I'll post that on to question #1, because I think it will help you represent your own strengths. Section Guidelines handout. You changed Francie to Frankie in the paper is straining to say about students and integrated their interests and observations Again, please.

I think, in case there are endless others: think about what your specific point of analysis. Other registration/administrative issues? Having specific questions that will either open up would have gotten this to many other parts of your recitation genuinely was quite good when you look at how he did on the construction of your paper is a clever rhetorical move that your argument effectively.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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ecotone99 · 6 years ago

Text

Inspiration (SF)

clack clack rrrrrt CLACK clack clack

clack clack rrrrrt clack CLACK

The antique metronome continued its electronic beeping, but the disheartened robot hung its head and dropped its arms from the corrugated metal washboard to its sides. "I failed on the turnaround again." It said dejectedly. "Can I just download the rhythm software? I clearly wasn't programmed for this. I'm supposed to open and store package contents." "You know what? Fine. Fuck it. You wanna take the easy way? Do it. Just don't come back. You'd be able to play in time, sure, but you wouldn't be any more able to express yourself than this piece of shit." The grizzled old Martian smashed down on the metronome for emphasis. It beeped out a few more lonesome tones and gargled clicks, and sputtered into the uneasy silence that fell on the metal hut. "Remind me, why'd you come here in the first place? You could've just downloaded the software, and gone across the crater to make that electric garbage they call music over there, but you didn't. Ya came and interrupted an old man's retirement, or what goes for that on this red hell planet." "I...I guess…" the machine started softly. "I thought I could-" "And let me tell you about programming!" the old man exploded, interrupting. "I'm just a clever monkey. You know what I was programmed to do? Eat, fuck, and kill anything that looks different than me. That's the software running up here! And my hardware!" cackling, he held up his knobby fingers, formed them into fists. "But I ain't doing much of any of those am I?" he grabbed his makeshift guitar and slid a chord, slipped into an easy blues shuffle. "You're here cause you and me both want to be more than our programming," he crooned over the simple melody. He gestured to the machine to pick the rhythm back up, closed his eyes and kept playing. The tune reached its conclusion, and the old man opened his eyes. "Ya know? I think it's time." He said reverently, and began digging around his hut, seemingly possessed by a mysterious purpose. Without looking back, he tossed a small carbon shipping container back to the robot. A long metal rod followed, with a box of nuts, bolts and wire. The old man wheezed back into his seat, eyes shining, and began excitedly piecing the junk together. With an efficiency that surprised even the robot, a crude instrument began to take form from the parts. "We used to call these cigar box guitars, back in Tennessee." he babbled, going on about poor bluesmen of old. "Started making these again when I got drafted into the colonization initiative, before they let us take any extra gear. People still needed music somehow. It's just in us. Hell, we had music before fire! Think about that!" The robot tried, but found the flurry of information hard to follow. It had more questions than answers. "There!" the old man exclaimed with pride as he twisted the final string into tune. "Still got it in me. She's all yours." "But, won't I need a slide to play it?" The robot asked, confused. "Not with those shiny metal sausages! Ah ha! Try it out! It's in a simple blues tuning. Just bar your first finger across the strings at the scratch marks there. Now, try an easy downstroke rhythm, like this, slide up to the next dot…"

Walking through the dimming light, the robot finally reached its cave. It sat, digging through its memory banks for all the recordings it had of the old man's tunes. Feeling frustrated with being able to hear, but not mimic, the robot shut down the memory. With a sigh, it began to count. "One two three FOUR five six…" It picked up the simple rhythm, and began to attempt the techniques the old man had demonstrated.

Weeks passed, and the cave began to brighten with music. Simple but expressive blues reverberated off the walls, the robot resolved the tune with a flourish. It put the three stringed guitar back into the ill fitting metal case, and began the journey back to the old man's hut.

It crested the last hill before the flat plains of its teachers hutstead. Smoke and dust rose from the crashed rocket, twisted metal littering the red wastes. "No no no no NO!" The robot broke into a sprint. Jumping over packages and flaming wreckage, it made its way to where the hut used to be. The shipping rocket had come down directly onto the old man's dwelling, obliterating the small dome. The robot pounded its fists against the blackened, wrent metal, its cries stolen by the haze and wind. It sank to its knees, shock setting in as it frantically began to dig into the hard red dirt. Getting nowhere, it collapsed next to the wreck.

* * *

"Inspiration's a funny thing. Some days, hell, some years go by and you feel nothing. No magic. You play the notes, sing the words, but there ain't no meaning behind em. But then, something'll happen, some switch flips in you, or maybe it'll get tripped by sadness, and you feel it begin to flow through your soul and out yer fingertips. Your whole being at one with the sorrow and music. And that's where the blues comes from. From in here." The old man tapped the robot's chest, going quiet as he gazed out the porthole into the dusty horizon.

* * *

The robot pulled the guitar out of the case, finally understanding the old man's words. It began playing, slow, mournfully. A wail rose from deep within its chest, as it forged the sorrow into a funeral dirge, the thin, wordless song twisting into the wind. Days turned into weeks as the robot grieved for the old man. The sun set and the sun rose, the wind howled and the wind grew still. The dust storms raged and the dust settled. On a calm, clear night, the robot finally set the guitar down. It climbed to the top of the wreckage, and sat looking up at the stars. Earth was visible tonight, bright through the asteroid belt. It gazed silently into the sky, wondering what it would do next. It thought about going back to its cave, but the idea of the cramped, lonely place made the robot sick. "No, I have to move on...but where? What's even left for me?" It pulled the guitar back out, and began playing a tune it remembered the old man plucking whenever he sat thinking. The first rays of dawn began to peak above the crater, and the robot turned itself to face the budding light. It saw the smoke and steam rising from the distant village, and an idea began to form. For the first time since the crash, the robot laughed as the inspiration coursed through its circuits.

The robot approached the bar warily, growing more confident as it peaked through the porthole, saw no one occupying the stage. It straightened its shoulders, pulled up to its full height, and pushed through the airlocks into the crowd. Pressing through the intoxicated patrons, it sat on the stool centered on the small stage. A hush fell across the room, as the young whispered in confusion and the old timers hushed in excited anticipation. It pulled the guitar out of the battered case, twisted it into tune. It took one last look across the room, seeing aged faces filled with wonder, nostalgia twinkling in their eyes. It stuck the first chord, fell into an easy rhythm, "We all...want to be more…"

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